Homecoming
by Rhysara
Summary: The fall of Fal Dara and the Borderlands as part of the Dark One's revenge on Asmodean for turning traitor...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This piece is actually a collaboration between myself and two other people (Rick and Matt) and was actually originally wr

A/N: This piece is actually a collaboration between myself and two other people (Rick and Matt) and was actually originally written for the

alt.wheel.of.time newsgroup (which is a group that partakes in a combination of Fan Fiction and role playing to create an group story)

It is important to note that this story, while set in Jordan's world does not use his actual characters with the exception of Asmodean. (We like to consider it a mirror world) This story is just a piece of the larger story that we are writing on the alt.wheel.of.time newsgroup. Because of this I figure I should give you a brief introduction to one or two of the major characters and differences.

Asmodean has turned traitor to the Dark One and is trying to redeem himself and become his own man. To this end he has adopted the guise of an old Shienarian warrior and has become the well-loved ruler of the whole of the Borderlands. As King Neotar, Asmodean has shaped the Borderland Alliance into a military state and has been extremely successful in holding back the Blight. One of the tools that Neotar/Asmodean has implemented is a group of male channelers known as the Northern Watch and these men are led by a man by the name of Daedalus Cammeron. As the story opens, Neotar is preparing to leave Tar Valon (having just assisted in lifting a dark friend Siege.)

As part of a new alliance with the White Tower, Neotar is returning to the Borderlands with 100 warders who will train with his armies, and one Aes Sedai, a young blue sister by the name of Rhys.

BTW - The Mordero Haran are King Neotar's personal bodyguards. And while the characters are ours (or at least in the case of

Asmodean, his personality) the world and its constructs, belong to Robert Jordan.

******

Thin plumes of smoke wound their way into the sky on the plains just outside of Tar Valon. A series of small black tents were haphazardly cast about the plains, where soldiers had simply decided to sleep rather than march the six miles back to the Borderland camp. The fires were mostly quenched, leaving only piles of charred bones that had once been the besiegers of the White Tower. Near the dying fires were great piles of arms and armor, which would be transported back to camp.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the White Tower when the small procession marched across the Erinin on the sole remaining bridge after the siege. As they stepped onto the blood and smoke-stained grass, men were beginning to emerge from their make-shift shelters to greet the day. When they saw the massed black armor on the black stallions that proclaimed the Mordero Haran, it became clear who exactly was leaving the Tower.In half an instant they had flown into formation and were marching to greet their King.

At the head of the procession marching from the Tower was the fifty-man unit of the Haran, massed in a protective formation around King Neotar. The Mordero Haran was in its full battle armor, as was usual.Not one of them was shorter than six feet, and every one built like an ox.Each man had two blades strapped across his back in the manner of the Kandoran, and various other instruments of death dangled from his armor or stallion. All had a short riding bow, with the quiver hanging off of his saddle, and every man had at least two or three other weapons, be it a mace, an axe, or a ball and chain. Their mounts too were uniform, proud stallions darker than night, muscles rippling, hides shimmering in the quiet morning light.No one kept better care of his mounts than a Borderman. Within the pitch black formation rode King Neotar himself, clad in freshly polished battle armor which was gilded in an orangish light by the rising sun. He rode bareheaded, his snowy topknot tumbling straight down his back. No emotion touched his face; his eyes were hard, and jaw set. For everything, it looked like he was riding to his own execution.

Behind the Haran slunk a winding train of warriors who for everything looked more like prowling wolves than they did men. In a stark contrast to the orderly Haran, they rode mostly smaller, nimble mares and mustangs. Their cloaks shifted color as the young sun touched them, blending them into their surroundings startlingly well. At their head rode Rhys Sedai sitting uncomfortably straight on her mount and wondering for the hundredth time how it was that she was suddenly in the lead of a group of a hundred Warders. 

That Neotar had managed to leave the Tower without any sisters but she was impressive; that to do so he had announced her as his advisor in front of the half the sisters in the Tower was troubling.She shook her head slowly, wishing that the motion would be enough to clear it. How many sisters had sought her out in the wee hours of the morning?

She had heard more advice in the last few hours than she ever cared to again, and while she was fully aware that every sister played her own game, the incongruity of the various games had made her head spin. The Reds were fairly consistent, and rather pushy if truth were told. Not one, but seven of them, had arrived at various points of the morning to whisper what they could of the Northern Watch into her ear and insist that it was her duty to hunt them down. What the Reds seemed to think one woman could do against twenty, fifty, a hundred--the numbers varied--channeling men, she had no idea, and even now she couldn't remember what she had said to put them off. 

A Gray sister had taken her aside for a significant amount of time and lectured her as to proper conduct in the north, a conversation that had boiled down to a crash course in how to be diplomatic. Needless to say the Gray had been somewhat less then pleased with what she had to work with, and it was all Rhys could do to remember to keep smiling. 

The Yellows had sniffed that she was a bad choice and in a place like the Borderlands someone who actually knew something about Healing would be needed. The Browns had rattled off a list of questions that she was to uncover the answers to in her travels. The Greens had fairly hissed their displeasure that she was removing a hundred Gaidin from the Tower, but it was the visit from her fellow Blue sisters that had left her mind in a muddle.

All in all she had a visit from a representative of each Ajah, baring only the White--it seemed it was illogical to try to influence the North through her. 

Clearly the majority of the Tower was not pleased by her selection; not that she imagined they would have been truly pleased by any selection.

Ahead of her the Haran stopped abruptly as the Borderland clean-up unit approached. "Greetings, and Hail to our King!" cried the commander, and as one the soldiers dropped to a knee, bowing in the manner of the Shienaran. The Haran formation parted, and Neotar himself rode out to greet them.

"Rise," he ordered, his voice not betraying a single hint of emotion.After a short hesitation, they all did. "You have done well, soldiers," he said, turning about and observing the field. He noted the freshly upturned earth--they had buried their brethren as well as burnt the enemy. "It is a worthy sacrifice, to fall protecting the White Tower. The Southerners may offer no thanks, but they live in peace, and thus our struggles are never in vain."

"Indeed, my King," called back the commander. "I have never thought for a moment they were." Another brief pause, and he asked, "If I may inquire, where goes our King?"

Neotar almost smiled. Almost. The Borderlanders fought the Dark One to give peace to the Southerners, and Asmodean fought the Dark One to give peace to the Borderlanders; and if not peace, then reason, and hope. It was for men such as this one that Asmodean had done what he did; or at least so he told himself. "I go home, my friend," he said. "I return back to our lands to carry on the everlasting war."

The commander saluted his King proudly, then knelt again. Neotar saluted him in return, and turned his stallion about, riding back to the procession. The Bordermen didn't rise until all had passed, but when they did, the unit stood and the quiet morning air was broken with cries of "Kiserai ti Neotar!"

In short order the procession reached the Borderland camp, which was already bustling with activity. Wagons were racing out to the battlefield to collect the arms of both the enemy and the friendly, and messengers were being sent to Tar Valon to check on the status of the casualties and to bury those who hadn't lived through the night. There was also a good deal of haggard faces and bloodshot eyes--there had obviously been quite a celebration at the Borderland camp; a celebration somewhat different than the one Neotar had suffered at Tar Valon.

The Warders paused at the edge of the Borderland camp and after a brief conversation two of them broke off to follow Rhys, Neotar and the Haran into the camp: a state of events that surprised Rhys considerably. It seemed she was to have an escort at all times. Vaguely she wondered whose idea that had been, before dismissing it as unimportant. There were a hundred Gaidin and one sister--clearly her safety mattered to them.

When they reached the command tent she gestured for the two Warders to wait as she followed Neotar inside.

"Well met, Neotar," greeted General Jakope when they finally entered his command tent, the Saldean's long hair combed and tied behind him at the neck with a loose thong. He was one man who didn't look any worse for the wear. He pointedly ignored Rhys Sedai, true to form, and after a few very brief formalities, they leapt into business. Julan Jakope was never a man for formalities.

"I need a couple thousand cavalry to accompany me back to Fal Dara," ordered the King. "I can't have anything happening to these Gaidin."

"What, you're marching?" asked Jakope incredulously. "Well the whole bloody *army* will go with you if you're marching-"

"No, I am Traveling. They'll need an escort to the Blightborder from Fal Dara."

"Bah," grunted Julan. "Let 'em roast in a cook pot," he grunted, his eyes flickering towards Rhys Sedai.An arrogant smirk touched the General's lips. 

Neotar was used to such comments from his most passionate General, and let it fly. Julan would do as he was ordered, there was no question of that. The Gaidin would simply need to be acclimated not only to the cold, but to the Blight itself. For southerners, the Blightborder left such a foul taste in ones mouth that they vomited just to approach it.

"Indeed they may, as may you, and as may I," acknowledged the King with the twitch of an eyebrow. "I trust you have received your orders?" he asked naturally.

Julan nodded."Indeed," came the reply.Not a look flashed between them, but the General knew what he had to do.

"Very good," nodded Neotar."I need the cavalry outside the camp in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes. Before the words were completely out of Neotar's mouth, Rhys excused herself and fairly raced back to the group of Warders at the edge of the camp. If Neotar intended for her to open a Gateway, she was going to need to get to know an area of ground fairly quickly.

Dismounting, she tossed her reins to one of the Warders who had accompanied her and proceeded to embrace Saidar and start pacing. While not the best display of Aes Sedai serenity, it was the quickest way to learn a patch of ground, a necessity if she was to open a gateway. 

Fortunately, twenty minutes was a very short time to rally a couple thousand cavalrymen, and it was about forty minutes before all were ready--a juncture of time that allowed Rhys to not only have learned the ground before her, but to be back in her saddle and waiting.

Julan had given them three thousand Arafellin cavalrymen, under command of Magnus Thanson, the young cavalryman who had brought back the small feast the night before the battle. They rode in strict military discipline, honored to have been chosen to ride with the King. The Gaidin were mounting up as well, slipping bits back between their rides' teeth.

Neotar and the Haran would be the first through the Gate, followed quickly by the Gaidin, the rear taken up by the Arafellin cavalry.

The King turned to Rhys, who was waiting quietly with the Gaidin. "If you would do the honors, Aes Sedai?" he asked respectfully, but it wasn't really a question at all.

"Certainly," she replied as she slid back down off her horse. She may have figured out the basics of riding, but she preferred her own two feet when she had to do anything that required concentration.

The problem of course was that they were going to need a fairly large Gateway to transport that many people quickly. Did Neotar realize that a Sister's Gate was by nature smaller? She hoped so. Still she had every intention of making as large a Gate as she could safely hold, and that said she began the weaving.In moments a slash of silver light appeared, rotating gently to create a gateway large enough for a small group of mounted men to ride through at any one time.A decent size, to be sure, and she realized she was quite pleased as the first of the Haran began to ride through.

Neotar passed through to the Borderlands after the Haran, and was struck instantly by the vicious cold. The North wouldn't be such a dangerous place were it not for the winds. Yes, it was cold, yes there was snow, but it was the wind that killed, that blew snow into a man's eyes so he couldn't see. In an instant Neotar's wide eyes were narrowed into slits, and tears from the bitter gusts were dripping out of the corners of his eyes. What he could see was not what he expected. 

Ideally the Gate should have taken them to a small clearing which the Watchmen used when Traveling to Fal Dara. Rhys hadn't gotten it exactly right, and they ended up near a farmhouse of the elderly once-lord of Fal Moran--the man who had knelt to King Neotar in the Return. That the Gate hadn't hit the clearing dead on wasn't strange in itself; Neotar would have been somewhat suspicious had Rhys nailed the Gate right on the button. What startled the King was the naked form of the former Lord of Fal Moran nailed against a tree near his simple farmhouse, a gaping bloody hole between his legs and his face twisted in a rictus of agony. The face of a brave warrior, a man who stood against the Dark One his whole life, a man who rode against the Enemy at Tarwin's Gap countless times.Killed only now, when he moved to the countryside trusting in the security that Neotar had brought to the Borderlands. At the man's feet were the decapitated bodies of his family--all of whom Neotar knew well--and their heads were on posts surrounding the small farm. 

The Haran, all of whom were older veterans who had seen this sort of thing, were unmoved. Neotar had seen things like it as well; hell, he'd done it, and worse back when he was under the yoke of the Dark One. The wind snapped against his face ferociously, and whipped the tears from his eyes, pulling more out. It was different somehow, and the terrible foreboding the King had felt in his time in the south came back a hundredfold. The first of the Gaidin began guiding their mounts through the Gate, and were nearly blown back through to Tar Valon by the wind. They curled over their mounts, threw their hoods over their faces, and pushed through.

On the other--and considerably warmer--side of the Gate, a different pair of men broke off to accompany Rhys Sedai, and the three of them stood silently waiting as the Tar Valon party crossed, and then the Arafellins, in a process that took significantly less time then would be expected. When everyone else was through, Rhys gestured to the two Warders, and still leading their mounts, they stepped through.

Closing the Gateway, Rhys was suddenly aware of the environment around her and of the cold. Almost without thinking she pulled her cloak more tightly around her; not feeling the cold was one thing, but not letting it touch your body was another.The wind whipped at her cloak and her eyes stung. Light, how did people deal with this kind of weather?Even the Haran hunched a little bit lower in their saddles.

Blinking away tears, she suddenly took note of the environment around her and what she saw made her almost drop her reins in shock. She smoothed her face again in a matter of moments, but the sight of the dead man hanging before her made her uneasy. This looked like more then plain banditry, and clearly it didn't speak well of events to come.Almost as suddenly she became aware of the flurry of motion around her.

Neotar was galloping back and forth, making wild gestures to accompany his shouted orders to the Arafellin cavalry. The cavalry was breaking off into smaller units and riding off in every direction. One of the King's orders floated towards her.

"Find out what the hell is going on!" 

The cavalryman went galloping off, and as the Arafellin were rallying and flying away on their sturdy mounts, the King himself rode up to Rhys and the mass of Gaidin who were unconsciously huddling together against the cold.Neotar leaned in close and tried to shout something to her, but the sound was whipped off by the wind, and all she saw was the King opening and closing his mouth. Clearly the King was quickly growing exasperated. Embracing Saidar, Rhys channeled a tiny tube of Air reaching from Neotar's mouth to her ear and gestured for him to continue.His familiar voice suddenly drowned out the whistling of the wind.

"Thanson's sniffer fainted as soon as he stepped out of the Gate!Something's afoot, and I don't know what! We're going straight to Fal Dara! You and the Gaidin come with me, that's the safest place to be right now!"

Neotar then rode away to order the Haran to do the same. Snow was whirling about the barren lands; thin flurries, but vicious if they caught you full in the face. There was little snow as the winter was yet young but the ground was twinged with frost in its extremities; the sky which should have been a bright morning, was obscured by ominous storm clouds.

In short order, the fifty-man Haran unit was riding hard for Fal Dara with the Gaidin following closely behind. When they broke the tree line, Fal Dara would rise up like a bastion against all evil. Its impregnable stone walls had only once before been breached by Shadow forces, and it's entire existence was to ward off attack from the Blight. Neotar would reclaim the throne from Himilco, and tell everyone about the Lord of Fal Moran's unhappy demise. It was regrettable, but the culprits were probably already found, or would be soon.

They just needed to get inside Fal Dara, out of this damned cold.

***

Magnus Thanson rode at the head of his two hundred man detachment from the Arafellin cavalry.Neotar had ordered that they find what was going on, in light of the recent death of the former Lord of Fal Moran.It was an unhappy situation, and all the men had seen it. The Lord had only just moved to the north, after being reassured of his security under Neotar's reign. He had hoped that his young son would join the garrison of Fal Dara, and he wanted to be near the boy. Thanson set his jaw. That was before those animals got to them.

The question was, was it a surgical strike?Some bastard with a personal vendetta against the former Lord?Was it the Shadow?But why did the Dark One give a damn about the former Lord of Fal Moran?Why him?Or was it a general offensive by the Enemy? But then why hadn't word gotten south yet? These questions and hundreds more raced through the mind of Magnus Thanson and the rest of the Arafellin cavalry as they pounded in every direction to catch the culprits. It had to have been a recent killing, or Fal Dara would have known about it and at least buried the bodies. 

That was when one of the Eyeless stepped out from the shadow of a tree, and Magnus was struck cold with terror.The look of the Eyeless is fear.The slimy bastard grinned with thin, pale lips as Thanson's horse reared in terror and tossed off the terrified Arafellin commander. Before Thanson hit the ground, he heard behind him his men's wild shouts as they realized they'd ridden into an ambush. Before he knew it Trollocs were all around, hundreds of them, and Thanson was cut off from his cavalry, alone and unhorsed. Setting his jaw he whipped out his blade and with a terrible wordless roar of anger began the fight for his life.

A few short feet away, the Myrdraal threw its head back and laughed.

Laughed, and laughed, until it could laugh no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Neotar and the Haran, with the Gaidin close behind them, broke through the

Neotar and the Haran, with the Gaidin close behind them, broke through the tree line to see the two hundred yards of cleared landscape; the great hill on which was mounted the proud capital of the Borderland Alliance. On the hill of Fal Dara, Neotar built an empire which was rivaled by none. On the hill of Fal Dara, Asmodean redeemed himself before the eyes of the Creator for all his sins of the past. On the hill of Fal Dara was the symbol of Asmodean's defiance, the symbol of Asmodean's freedom, the symbol of Asmodean's labor, the symbol of Asmodean's hope.

On that hill was a pile of rubble.

Neotar reared his horse to a violent stop and swayed perilously in the saddle, as though he was about to faint. More tears drew up in his face from the wicked wind, and they were whipped away as quickly as they came.For a long moment, the only sound in the air was the ear-splitting whistle of the winds as the riders emerged from the tree line to see the terrible sight.

"Fal Dara is taken!" roared the King to Adherbal, who stood like a rock. All the Haran did--as did the Gaidin, for that matter. It was quite a welcome to the Borderlands, to see it's capital reduced to ruins. Neotar slammed a gauntleted hand brutally against his own face and drew a deep breath. It was as though he was mesmerized by the sight of his capital destroyed, and couldn't take his eyes from it.

"Damn the Creator!" Neotar roared after a long, silent moment and blood trickled down his brow. "Damn him!And damn me! We are all damned! Doomed and damned are we!" He turned to Adherbal, his hoary brows soaking in the blood of his forehead where he had hit himself. "Fal Dara is taken!" repeated the King, and then under his breath he murmured hoarsely, "Surely this is the end..."

And with that Neotar reached up to his shoulder and drew Shai'tsorvonda in one smooth motion.The blade, forged with steel by the One Power on the slopes of Thakandar showered azure sparks in a long arc and then Neotar dug his heels into the flank of his stallion and lurched forward, galloping up the hill leaning low over his mount.The Haran too lunged after their King in an instinctive reaction, and the Gaidin followed closely.

This time, as opposed to being swept away, the King's shouts seemed to swirl on the wind, echoing with almost a mad laughter. Despite herself Rhys shivered; all the rumors they had heard in the south, and not the slightest hint of this. 

Fal Dara looked like an earthquake had hit it, yet the continued existence of the trees they had emerged from spoke a different story. Clearly this destruction had been wrought with the One Power. 

Unconsciously urging her horse to go faster, she stared at the city.Clearly it had been an impressive sight at one time. A day ago? A week?But where the city walls had once boldly stood, now only a pile of charred rubble remained. One watch tower yet stood in seeming defiance, but as she rode closer it was revealed for a hollow shell, only half its arch still standing. At its highest point, a carrion bird crouched.What was left of the Tower swayed under the weight of the bird; it would not last long.

Entering the city, the scene was much the same; piles of rubble or a burnt-out husk of a building the only sign that this was once a thriving city. Even the Warders appeared wide eyed, and not a few made a sign to ward off evil as they followed Neotar and the Haran deeper into the city.

By nature their course zigzagged, monstrous piles of rubble forcing them to backtrack in places.Yet still they pressed on; clearly Neotar had a reason to reach the citadel, and she only hoped it was a reason grounded in hope and not despair.

Forced to backtrack once again, Rhys attention was drawn to a single chair that stood unburnt amidst a pile of charred rubble. Somehow that sight seemed sadder then any other and she felt a pang of sympathy for the king.His capital was gone and his people scattered. How did you begin to rebuild from something like this?

In the middle of a small plaza the party came to an abrupt halt and almost without thinking she turned to backtrack once again, only be caught in mid-motion by a shout.

"Myrdraal," the voice screamed and in half a moment the metallic rasp of a hundred and fifty blades being drawn at once filled the plaza.

Rhys embraced Saidar without a moments thought, already weaving fire when another voice took up the cry. Spinning left another of the creatures identified itself, and another, and another. Her heart sank as one after another Myrdraal and Trollocs stepped from the shadows. They were surrounded in a matter of seconds, the men already moving in to attack when she realized the obvious. She couldn't sense them.She was less then twenty feet from Shadowspawn and she couldn't feel their evil. Her blood ran cold and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine; someone had masked their presence.

"Dreadlords," she screamed, in a vain effort to give the men some warning before it was too late.

The first of the Trollocs leapt into the fray wielding wicked blades curved the wrong way, and fell quickly against the steel blades.More took the place of those who were fallen, and in a moment the once mostly silent plaza was echoing with the clash of steel against steel, the guttural animal cries of the Trollocs as they were cut down, the screams of pain from the men as the enemy breached blade and armor to find flesh.Radal Gaidin was roaring out orders to get the Aes Sedai under protection, while Ashin Gaidin--no stranger to battle or the Borderlands--was valiantly wading out into the enemy, his blade working as an extension of his arm, a human weapon.Adherbal was fighting at the opposite side of the square, his blade spraying black blood in fountains.Neotar was being forcibly pulled out of the fray by two of the Haran much to his violent protest, and his mouth was opened wide in fierce cries that were swept away by the clashing of man against beast.

As Rhys was being hustled back by the Gaidin, she grabbed at her ear, fumbling for the charm Daedalus had given. It came away in her hand, looking for all the world like a silver ship sailing on a pleasant wind. With a quick prayer to the Creator that help would come in time, she snapped the piece in two. If this didn't count as an emergency, she didn't know what did.

In her hand the token reverted to its original appearance. An unlit torched, carved from a piece of wood, now broken in two. Shoving the pieces into her pocket she jolted her horse into motion, as the three Gaidin at her side cried out in unheard protest.She had to get to the King.

*************************************************************

Far away, on the other side of the Borderlands, Daedalus fought a desperate battle of survival against an enemy that he knew he could never defeat. The small band of Watchmen desperately wove shields and re-wove them as they collapsed beneath the relentless assault of the Dreadlords. Then the call came. Daedalus gasped as cold washed over him from head to toe as the warning from the Alarm he had given to Rhys swept over him. Daedalus' eyes met Kincaid's in near terror. There was only one possible reason for the Alarm to have been used: the King's life was in imminent danger.

"The King is in danger!" Daedalus roared to the Watchmen. "We must get through!"

All at once the Watchmen went from defensive tactics to an all-out assault borne by ferocity unequaled across the breadth of the world. Their King's life was in danger. They would win through; there was no other option. The sheer suddenness and fury of the Watchmen's attack took the Dreadlords completely by surprise. Daedalus wove the Skimming Gate so fast he nearly lost control of the pattern and killed them all, but it popped into existence and the Watchmen dove through onto the platform. Daedalus guided the platform along the trace of Saidin left by the Alarm on the desperate flight to the King. He spared enough attention to address the men.

"Dark days are ahead, no matter the outcome of the next hour. What you must all remember is that you are the Northern Watch: Bordermen with the power to destroy armies and nations, and to defend them as well. Our King is in danger, our homes are in danger, and the people we swore a sacred oath to defend are in danger. If this is the day that we die, let it at least have meaning; make our sacrifice worth it. The Borderlands shall never fall, to this we pledge our lives and our strength. May Peace someday favor our swords," The men listened in solemn silence, each to his own thoughts. After another moment, Daedalus lifted his hand and the Watchmen drew their blades, prepared to give death, and to receive it if need be.

***********************************************

"Move!Move!Move!" screamed Neotar.The worst thing they could do was to hunker down, and if they didn't get some inertia immediately they'd be tied down and they would all die where they stood, in this little plaza in the city that was once Fal Dara.Shaking one of the Haran off his arm violently he stood up in his stirrups and raised Shai'tsorvonda high.Sapphire sparks shone tracing the blade's path, and the very air around the sword seemed to crackle with energy.He turned to see a band of Tar Valoners led by Ashin Gaidin breaking through on the other side, and the man's mouth was wide open shouting something that Neotar couldn't hear, and beckoning wildly for others to follow.Something snarled to the King's left, and without though the pulled back his blade and thrust it into the Trolloc at his side, which had somehow made it past the Haran.

Spurring his mount forward, the King ripped his sword roughly from the beast's chest, and after a brief but ferocious engagement, suddenly he and about fifteen or twenty of the Haran were out of the trap, hurdling down a thin street, the stallions the Haran rode leaping deftly over the rubble obscuring the path.

*********************************************

A fair number of Gaidin stayed in the plaza, the greatest swordsmen in the world flowing smoothly from one stance to another, cutting the enemy to pieces.Determined not to lose one Warder more then she had to, Rhys gave up throwing around fireballs fairly quickly, discovering instead that it was far more efficient to weave the flows directly around her target. 

"Protect the King," she'd ordered, in the few seconds of calm she'd had before all chaos had broken loose. Protect the King, but for the most part the Warders seemed fairly focused on protecting her: a realization that had her frantically breaking away from the battle and pushing her mount through the broken city to reach Neotar's side.

***************************************************

Nearly a score of the Watchmen stood solemnly on the platform moving through motionless black in the nothingness of Skimming.Each man was absorbed in his own thoughts, hoping, praying they would be there soon enough to save their King.And as the exit Gate snapped open and the Watchmen flung themselves forward, Saidin was already being woven. In the instant that they came through the Gate all hell broke loose. But it was the Watchmen who did the dying. Wards had been set all around, and now men's bodies exploded in flames, or were ripped apart as threads of Air whipped at them, or they disappeared in bloody heaps as rocks ripped from the ground to pummel them. Shields went up as quick as possible, but for many it was not quick enough. Only five Watchmen remained alive, and two of them were injured. Not a moment was spared for wounds or grieving though, there was no time to spare. 

Daedalus led the Watchmen in a foot charge into the depths of what had once been Fal Dara, the shock of finding it in such a state sliding emotionlessly outside the Void. The men fanned out behind him, forming a wedge, lashing out with Saidin as they came across small, scattered parties of Trollocs and Myrdraal.Far up ahead, he thought he caught sight of a woman riding hard--Rhys. Daedalus' heart leaped into his throat at the brief sight of her: he feared for her safety every bit as much as he feared for that of Neotar. He had not realized that before, but now he knew with crystallized certainty.

"For Shienar! For King Neotar! Forward the Watch!!" Daedalus roared, lifting his sword high and drawing so deeply on Saidin that his skin burned and the edges of his vision swam with black vileness from the Taint. Lightening crashed down from the sky at his command, sweeping down on the mass of Trollocs and Myrdraal unfolding from the shadows. Saidin attacks joined the lone source of Saidar with devastating effect. The Asha'man had started as weapons in and of themselves, but had evolved into something different, more civilized. The White Tower had never had that way of thinking. The Northern Watch had never strayed from that school of thought, and here and now they proved it. Five men swept through the Trolloc hordes, killing them not by tens or hundreds, but by the thousands. And still they came.

********************************************************

"The Gaidin!The Gaidin!We can't leave them!" roared Neotar, reining in his mount suddenly, arresting the mad flight through the back streets of a leveled Fal Dara.

"My King!" cried Adherbal."Your life is in danger!The Gaidin can wait!"

Neotar's face twisted angrily."The Borderlands cannot stand alone!We return for the Gaidin!"

And with those words echoing in the air, Neotar wheeled his mount and was flying back towards the plaza.There was lightening flashing down out of the sky--Dreadlords? Rhys?The Watch?

There wasn't a way in hell the Borderlands could recover from a catastrophe of this scale.If Fal Dara was taken and no one had discovered it yet-that meant all over Shienar--the heart and soul of the Borderland Alliance--strongholds were being destroyed.Where the hell was Eomad and the Army of Shienar?Were they destroyed too?If so, why hadn't he gotten word of it?And if not, how did the Shadowspawn get past them?Questions were raging along the surface of Neotar's mind, but deep in his heart he knew they were useless.This was the revenge of the Dark One.To take away everything Asmodean had and held high, to reduce his holdings to a decrepit pile of rocks belying hidden glory.

He nearly rode down a small rider on a mare which was hurdling towards him.

"Neotar!" she gasped, wavering in her saddle.

It was Rhys Sedai.

"Where's the Gaidin?" asked the King, looking forwards towards the plaza that had been the ambush.

Rhys opened her mouth as though to answer, but then her lips formed an 'o' in the picture expression of surprise, and Neotar turned, Shai'tsorvonda tracing a glimmering swathe of cobalt through the air as he did.An Eyeless stood in the shadows, his dark hood pulled low over his forehead.The Haran, ten paces behind it, let out a cry, and kicked their mounts forward.

The Myrdraal smiled thinly, and it's black lips parted."Our master beckons," it said, with a voice like crackling leaves, "and he forgets nothing."Those terrible lips curled upwards into a mocking rictus of a smile. "You are his, Nesossin."The thick blade of Adherbal swung downward behind it, and with a slithering, snake-like motion, the Eyeless disappeared back into the shadow. The Captain of the Mordero Haran reined in his mount quickly, the great horse and its massive rider coming close to riding Neotar and Rhys down, his eyes wide.

Rhys looked up sharply, momentarily startled that a Myrdraal would take the time to speak to Neotar. Clearly the man was more important then she suspected, but as she studied his face she knew a moment of fear. His eyes weren't burning with defiance, they weren't full of fiery passion for the cause as one may have expected. They were hard, hard as stone, but there was something else there. Certainly she was no expert at reading emotion, and this man seemed more a puzzle than most. But it was his eyes that gave her pause, and caused an icy shiver to run down her spine. 

The King of the Borderlands had a death wish. 

The realization was chilling and unconsciously Rhys clutched her reins tighter. Was that indecision that flitted across his face? Was it possible that he didn't know what to do? Could it be that for once in his violent life he had come up against something he couldn't overcome? She suppressed a shiver of sudden fear. Surely not. 

But Neotar *didn't* know what to do. The destruction wasn't limited to Fal Dara. This was the revenge of the Dark One, and it would destroy everything. No one had ever stood up against the Dark One as Asmodean had. But he wasn't even Asmodean anymore. Once, he had been Joar Addam Nesossin, but he forsook that life under the Light for one under the Dark One, and became Asmodean. Joar Addam Nesossin ceased to exist. And then Asmodean forsook the Dark One, to pursue a life as a free man. He was Asmodean no more, and he became King Neotar of the Borderlands. But now the Dark One was taking that from him. King Neotar was nothing without the Borderlands. By destroying the Borderlands, the Dark One was destroying the new identity of His unfaithful servant, taking away the one thing that made Neotar himself. Only the Dark One could manage to kill a man twice. Once, the Dark One killed Joar Addam Nesossin, and now he was killing Neotar, but the man that was both those men still lived, if an existence without purpose, without cause, could be called living. 

The Haran looked at their King expectantly, waiting for orders from the man who could overcome any difficulty, from the man they saw as the Creator in flesh. But when he finally opened his mouth to speak, it wasn't in the secure, rigid voice of the leader of the most powerful alliance in the world. It wasn't in the solid voice of King Neotar. It seemed to them the voice of another man, a man resigned to death. 

"All is lost," whispered King Neotar. "I have been killed once, yet I still live. How many times must a man be killed before he is dead? Where is my escape? Where is my warrior's death..." The Haran stood stock-still, blinking. Was this their King? 

And then he stood in his stirrups, saying to them in a voice which begged for finality: "Soldiers, brave as you are to no end, if you crave to face the last fight with me, and no doubt of it, how matters stand for us each one can see. The God by whom this kingdom once stood has abandoned us." The King smiled fatalistically, and he paused, his eyes open but looking inward, rolling over his own words. The Dark One killed Joar Addam Nesossin, and try as He would to kill Neotar, the King would spit in His face one last time. Only by noble death could he cheat the Dark One of victory over His disloyal subject. 

When he spoke again, it was with the brave, courageous voice of Neotar again; the voice of a warrior. "You defend a city lost in flames," he said, swinging an arm to show the ruin that was once Fal Dara. "Come, let us die." Shai'tsorvonda slashed upwards proudly into the air. "The conquered have one safety," cried the King with a renewed confidence as his blade shone with an azure glow, "and that is hope for none!" A mad smile cracked his face and the King began to laugh. 

As one, seventeen Borderland-forged blades thrust into the air to echo Shai'tsorvonda as the Haran roared out their approval, their laughter, and in a flurry of motion and sound every man was rushing towards the fray, hooves pounding, sword clanging against shield, every voice raised up in a terrible cry--the cry of doomed men riding eagerly towards the final embrace. 

Rhys was cursing by the time she finally got her bloody horse turned around and heading after the King Neotar and his men. Fortunately with the noise and dust the men's stallions threw up, there wasn't much chance she was going to loose them, but even so she pushed her horse to go faster. 

By the time she caught up they were in the plaza where the ambush had originally occurred--a plaza that looked somewhat worse for wear, if such was possible. During the course of the original fighting another of the surrounding buildings had fallen inwards, scattering broken bits of rock over the bodies. Trollocs lay everywhere groaning terribly, and through all across the plaza the Haran were already leaning down off their mounts and slipping their swords into the wounded Shadowspawn. There were hundreds of the dead beasts, as well as four still thrashing Myrdraal. Neotar himself was standing in his stirrups, his head tilted back sniffing at the air. 

Guiding her mount towards him, Rhys set her jaw set determinedly, in the process steering clear of one of the dying Fades. The creature just didn't want to die and every once in awhile its blindly flailing sword would actually manage a jab into one of the two black-armored corpses who had fallen to its blade; the first casualties of the Mordero Haran. 

She knew she was making a mistake; she knew she was going to get herself killed, but she couldn't just let Neotar commit suicide. She'd sworn a vow to do what she could to protect his life, and at the moment protecting his life meant keeping him out of the fray. 

Drawing a deep slow breath, the Gray's words echoing in her ears, Rhys maneuvered herself over to the King's side. 

She leaned towards him and in a fit of daring placed a tattooed hand gently on his wide shoulder plates. She wanted to be sure he would acknowledge her. "King Neotar," she began in a quiet undertone meant only for his ear, she had no doubt he would carry through on his earlier threat and at the moment she needed him to be as reasonable as possible. Of course he gave no acknowledgement of her, and she resisted the urge to shake him. His nose wrinkled again, sniffing the air, like a hunting wolf. "Fal Dara is gone, and riding into another ambush isn't going to accomplish anything other than getting you well and truly killed. What happens then? You still have a kingdom, you still have people who love and respect you, and right now those people need you more than ever. If you get yourself killed, who is going to rally them? Who is going to drive away the Shadow? The Borderlands are more than Fal Dara, more than Shienar, and while the bricks that built it may lay broken, and its people bleeding, this is *still* the Borderlands." 

Neotar cocked his head in another direction, sniffing sharply at the air again. Rhys continued on relentlessly in the same even tone, though at this point, retaining that even tone was a struggle. "I understand how badly you want vengeance, I see how desperate you are to ride into the dark and scour the city of Shadowspawn." The King still wasn't looking at her, but his head was motionless. He was listening. "That is exactly what the Shadow wants you to do. If you ride in there and never right out, what happens? You will have killed a few more Trollocs, but Trollocs breed. In the end, your life is a hundred times more valuable than the death of a thousand Trollocs." Beside her, one of the Haran leaned down off his mound and with a strong stroke jabbed his blade into a body lying on the ground near her. The Trolloc on the ground let out a weak snarl and spat out a gob of black blood before dying. 

"The light needs you," Rhys urged quietly, very quietly, "your people need you, and whether you realize it or not, you are the heart of the Borderlands. If you die today, you hand the Shadow a victory of untold proportions. There is something to be said for living to fight another day." 

Neotar said nothing for a long moment. Had she gotten through to him? Beneath all that miserable honor was there reason? 

He turned his head slowly, looking her deep in the eye for a long moment, interrupted only by the dying growls of Trollocs. A face begging for hope looked back at him. It could have been the face of his people staring him back in the eye, pleading with him for a glimmer of light in the cold, dark barren days of their harsh and dark existence. The King's horse snorted quietly and shook his mane. Aes Sedai Rhys was, but so innocent, so naive. He was like that once. 

When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice deep in the back of his throat, as if it were wringing itself out of his soul, twisting and writhing until it dripped up his throat and out of his mouth. "I have done my part for the people of these lands, child." Coming from any other man it would have been a sign of intense disrespect, but his words were like that of a battered old man telling his grandchildren of the hard days of his youth. "I challenged the scourge of the world and it has come." 

A heavy gauntleted hand dropped on Rhys' shoulder and as her own hand slid from Neotar's shoulder plate she realized her words hadn't touched him. The King pressed his weathered forehead against that of the Aes Sedai. "I will spit in His eye one last time. My time is up, my thread bare." A detached smile touched his face as he pulled back and looked into her eyes. "It is a matter between the Dark One and myself now, at this late hour. The light of the Borderlands has drifted south." 

The King spread his arms wide and kicked his horse gently, drawing him away from the stunned Aes Sedai. "Riddles and diddles, to ponder and puzzle!" he cried suddenly, spreading his arms wide and tossing his head backwards in a mad laugh. 

The spell he had cast was broken, and he cried out to the Haran who were spread about the plaza, "Let us fight battles worthy of song! Let us win our seats next to Hawking and Eagle Eye! Come, we ride into the flames!" 

And the King spurred his mount forward, drawing his sword and charging off into the darkness. 

Cursing Rhys followed. She'd tried, she had. What else could she say to him? Nothing that would sway him, she was certain of that much. Why did he have to be so pig headed? Why did any of them have to be so pig headed? And how was she to keep him safe in the middle of crumbling city swarming with Trollocs, and worse. 

Almost immediately their small group was set upon by Trollocs, the men jumping almost gleefully into the fray. Was there a particular reason why every Borderlander she'd met seemed to have a penchant for death? Perhaps it was men in general, as not a few of the Warder's had exhibited a similar glee. Men were so bloody stupid, she only hoped Daedalus had more sense. Where in the world was he? Would he be able to get Neotar to see reason? Or would he only encourage the man further? 

Hurling a fireball at a Myrdraal that suddenly emerged from the shadow of a broken building, she reflected wryly that even if he did encourage Neotar, at least he would be there. At the moment another channeller would be more then welcome. At the moment a dozen Red sisters, with the worst of their lectures, would be welcome. 

All around her the men were a whir of motion, though she hardly noticed. She would keep Neotar safe if she had to incinerate every Myrdraal in this cursed city. She just wished she was strong enough to do so. Strong enough to incinerate every Myrdraal, and every Trolloc, and every other danger that might threaten. Neotar was not going to die from her lack of trying. 

Continuing to weave fire, a detached part of her mind couldn't help noticing just how simple the weave was, almost a repetitive motion but for every creature she burned and every one that lay gutted in the plaza, another appeared out of nowhere. Where the hell was Daedalus? 

Across the plaza a shout went up. Rhys had never been so pleased to see a group of Warders riding towards her. Every man they could rally meant a little more help. Every man they could rally gave them a few more minutes in which a miracle could occur and at the moment she was not above wishing for miracles. 

With a renewed burst of energy she flung fire at the Myrdraal that stood between the two groups, gratified when the creature's death reduced several of the Trollocs to writhing hulks on the ground. Ten, fifteen warders she counted. She would have preferred the entire Expeditionary Army with Jakope and all, but at least they would double their numbers. She *would* keep Neotar safe. 

The Warders crossed the plaza in a matter of seconds and she was already formulating orders when one of them grabbed her reins. 

The man, an older gruff faced Warder that she didn't recognize gestured the other men to encircle her and mercilessly began dragging her horse away from Neotar. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded brusquely. 

"Getting you out of this city," he answered in a voice that brooked no nonsense. "What you may not have noticed is that this city has become a death trap and nobody is going to say that a hundred Warders couldn't keep one Sister safe. You are coming with us." 

"I can't," she fairly screamed, yanking her reins out of the man's grasp. "Right now King Neotar's life is more important then mine, and if he doesn't leave the city alive, you'll have more to worry about then the death of one Sister. I am not leaving him." 

Kicking her horse into motion she dove between the men's horses. She had no doubt they would try to stop her but at least she didn't have to worry about them trying to kill her. When she was free she kicked her horse into motion. Fear and worry certainly did wonders for her riding skills. 

In the time she had been distracted, King Neotar and his men had made it to the far side of the plaza, a realization that made her want to curse. Damn them, she was right, Warders were more trouble then they were worth. Why in the world did Green Sisters bond so many of them? They had better not try to stop her again. 

Halfway across the plaza three Myrdraal and two dozen Trollocs suddenly stepped into her path. She channeled frantically, she didn't have time for this. Why wouldn't the wretched creatures just die and be done with it. Did she have to hit each one with its own individual fireball? Damn it, King Neotar was getting further and further away. 

It wasn't until a flurry of motion at her side indicated the Warders had caught up that she realized her own danger. One sister could not single handedly fight her way through this entire city. Like it or not she needed these men, a realization that made her want to grind her teeth in frustration. 

"I'm going after King Neotar," she fairy growled. "If you want to protect me, then come. But don't think for a moment you can hustle me out of this city, like it or not I have a job to do." 

It was then that a terrible swathe of destruction burst into them, and as the blood flew freely, suddenly leaping before her and the Gaidin were five men, each with a mad glint in his eye and looking more dangerous than any Gaidin ever had.Five blades were held in five experienced hands, blade and body dripping with black blood, but somehow she knew it wasn't just swordsmanship that made these men living weapons.But the face in the middle was familiar, and the fire in his eyes didn't soften, but changed somehow.

"Where is the King?!" Daedelus cried over the roar of battle without time for pleasantries.

"Up ahead," she shouted, pointing in the general direction of the Citadel where he had last been headed."I tried to stop him. It's a trap, he knows it's a trap, but he didn't care. He gave up. He rode in there to die and not one of the Mordero Haran tried to stop him."

Daedalus felt cold sweep over him. His King had lost hope. But that coldness was quickly replaced by determination. He had been warned of this day by Neotar himself. Shortly after Neotar had commissioned the Watchmen, he had said to Daedalus: "The Northern Watch must bear the flame of hope no matter how dark the day. You and your men must be stronger than any of us, for we will someday need that strength. Someday even I may lose hope, that is the day when you must truly be the Torchbearer."

That time had come, Daedalus only hoped that he was equal to the task.

"Come," she said, shifting her reins slightly in order to offer him a hand up. "There is still time and he will listen to you. He is too important to die, the Borderlands need him, the Light needs him and I would imagine that you do too."

Daedalus wrapped his arm behind her stirrup and picked his feet off the ground, so that he could move as quickly as the White Tower soldiers, but not be hindered by being mounted. The other four men found horses to grip in the same manner as Daedalus.

Kicking her horse into motion, Rhys felt a moment of intense relief. Neotar would listen to Daedalus. They would get to him in time and they would pull him out. This terrible nightmare would be resolved. 

She resisted the urge to laugh in relief, or terror, or any one of the thousand emotions that flitted through her. Hope.Perhaps Daedalus was the miracle she'd half prayed for.He'd brought hope and that in itself was a miracle. His presence beside her was rock solid and the relief it afforded her was palatable. For the briefest of moments she almost understood the Greens. 

She was only vaguely aware of the Warders who followed them, her attention fixed firmly in the desperate need to reach Neotar's side. Even Daedalus's presence faded slightly from her mind. Between them they cut a path of destruction through the city and she didn't think she could have said where her channeling left off and his began.


	3. Chapter 3

Neotar and the Haran pushed deeper and deeper into the city, fighting viciously

Neotar and the Haran pushed deeper and deeper into the city, fighting viciously. The desperate odds doubled their fighting spirit; from that time on, like predatory wolves in fog and darkness, through thick spear-like arrow flights and Shadowspawn at every turn, they ran for certain death, the thick storm-clouds casting a cavernous black night over and around the city as thick snowflakes began to fall.In windows on the streets, in homes, on solemn porch of the citadel, Trollocs stood and fell, paying the price to their Dark Lord with their very lives, falling to the ferocious blades of the Mordero Haran. Manhood returns fire even to the conquered, but everywhere the Haran went they saw in their minds faces of men and women they knew, familiar inns of the city, now burnt out piles of rubble housing not travelers, but the enemy. Grief everywhere, everywhere terror, and all shapes of death.   
  
Neotar himself rode in the front, and in the beginning few of the enemy could stand their ground in the face of his wrath; those that could, died. Shai'tsorvonda was at work, the lust and dark glory of battle was upon the King of the Borderlands, and with every sword thrust, with every Trolloc that fell he let out a mad cry--of anger? Of joy? None could tell, but as they sank deeper and deeper into the city the resistance stiffened.   
  
Soon the King and his men were wading through enemy troops, who were now standing their ground rather than retreat as they had. Was it a trap? Or more likely, what was behind them that they feared more than the terrible wrath of the Bordermen? If these questions passed into the mind of Neotar and the Mordero Haran, they gave no sign of it. They were intent on the killing, reveling in it, splashing about in the dark Trolloc blood and laughing with the joy of battle. They didn't notice the dense flakes pouring out of the sky, they didn't notice the pain of their wounds, they only had their minds to search out more dark flesh to hew.   
  
As Neotar struck down a particularly large and vicious Trolloc, he found suddenly behind it a tall, dark form with a pasty maggot-like complexion: an Eyeless. The King's sturdy mount, by some devilry he didn't understand, reared up suddenly--perhaps struck with fear at the gaze of the Eyeless--and as Neotar struggled valiantly to stay in the saddle, the black steel of Thakandar whipped out and slashed down across the loyal animal's throat. Neotar's horse fell, and he with it, armor clanging loudly upon him. The Myrdraal stepped slowly towards its fallen adversary, its blade wet with the blood of the Borderland stallion. Thoughtlessly it raised its blade, and behind him the King heard the frantic shouts of the Mordero Haran as they realized that the moment they had dread was upon them.   
  
As the Myrdraal looked down at its victim, it expected to see a cowering man fearing death, but instead it found itself looking into a face more grim than its own, and in that moment it knew fear. "Stay your blade, vile creature," roared the King from the ground, and as if it were under Neotar's command, its black blade halted in the air. The Mordero Haran stopped, surprised beyond all hope, when they heard their lord cry out, "And now I sent you to your maker!" The Myrdraal erupted in a violent burst of flames, and as they stood amazed, the King pulled himself out from under his mount and went leaping towards the citadel.   
  
They dutifully followed, most of them unhorsed by this point. They broke through a thin line of Trollocs before breaking through to the open space in front of the gates of the citadel, which were closed, and surprisingly enough, intact. Neotar turned before the great doors of the citadel, limping slightly, a mad smile painted across his bloodstained face. It had been a trap. Trollocs poured out of every entrance to the square, scores at a time, and reacting admirably quickly in the face of ultimate doom, the last of the Haran retreated into a loose circle around their King at the steps of his keep. The Trollocs didn't attack at first, more and more of them emptying into the square like cockroaches. And when there were at least ten score of them, they threw themselves against the enemy, and so began the last stand of the greatest King of All the Borderlands before the wrecked gates of his ruined capital. 

************************************************

Daedalus slipped from where he hung from Rhys's saddle and brought his sword sweeping forward in a vicious arc as they slammed into the rear of the Trollocs and other Shadowspawn surrounding the gates of the Citadel. As he swung the blade through the underhand arc, the very tip of it scraped along the ground, sending up a high pitched grating, that resolved into a perfectly tuned ring as the tip came away from the ground. The ringing was silenced by the meaty thunk of the blade sinking into the Trolloc before him, cleaving the beast nearly in two. 

"Shienar!!" Daedalus screamed as he seized Saidin yet again. "Forward the Northern Watch!" with that he released the weave he had prepared and the ground before him erupted as jagged shards of stone ripped themselves from the ground and hurtled forward into the ranks of the Shadowspawn. The four other Watchmen followed suite and it was like a tidal wave of death crashing down upon the Dark One's troops. Flame, rocks, lightening, mud heated to boiling, magma flowing up from the ground, other monsters simply exploded as their blood and bodily fluids were heated so quickly that they instantly turned to steam. When the initial assault of Saidin ended, then the White Tower troops slammed into the fray. 

"Neotar! For King Neotar!" the Watchmen cried as they swept into the midst of the mounted Warders, blades darting to and fro, like shadows of death, flitting from one victim to the next. Their fanatical need to save their king propelling them to feats of swordsmanship and mastery of Saidin few had seen since the Age of Legends. And still the Shadow hordes kept them from Neotar and his beleaguered force.Daedalus once again found himself near Rhys, his back pressed to the barrel chest of her mount at times in the press of the fighting, other times, he stood next to her stirrup on one side or the other. He caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye, and his hand was a blur of motion as it darted beneath his cloak and flashed out again, flinging a throwing hatchet, sending it sailing millimeters behind Rhys's head and square in the middle of the face of the Trolloc that had been about to club her from her saddle from a blind spot.

"Watch your back," he said with a smile full of grim humor. Then it was back to the bloody business of war. The silk of his coat had long since been destroyed by the blood and gobbets of flesh clinging to it. A Fade came to face him, striking with its snake quick, fluid attacks. Daedalus slipped its guard with his sword and grabbed it by the throat. "Die you bloodless son of a bitch!" Daedalus hissed as Saidin coursed through him and the Fade simply exploded in a cloud of ash, so hot were the fires of its immolation. 

*********************************************

  
As the terrible fight to reach their King ensued, Neotar himself stood on the ruined steps as the Haran fought desperately against the surrounding foe, and he watched, knowing that certain death was at his doorstep.Trollocs flooded the square, and their ranks stretched back into the roads which fed into it.No hope would come.A small explosion knocked four of the elite bodyguards forming the human barrier unexpectedly off their feet, and as Trollocs surged up towards their goal, Neotar saw a small twisted figure standing high on one of the buildings.Asha'shadar.Beneath him, the Haran were recovering--those who hadn't been killed struggling back to their feet against the endless floods of Shadowspawn, and the King laughed. Roaring laughter, echoing all about the square, over the fierce din of battle his harsh laughter soared.   
  
"Fists upon fists are not sufficient," he said between laughs in an unnatural voice. He did not shout, he simply spoke yet by some unseen device his voice pierced through to every ear. "Scores of Eyeless and their terror cannot overcome me. But my city must first be destroyed, then I must be ambushed, then led into another ambush with Dreadlord after Dreadlord ready to secure my doom." He laughed again, and the sound was terrible to the ears of the Asha'shadar.   
  
"Yet I tell you, it is still not enough!" he snapped suddenly, the laughter dying and burning embers glowing in his eyes, anger and hatred of the enemy conquering all other emotion. "For I am no ordinary man!"   
  
Beneath the King, a violent swing of a club to Adherbal's helmet caused him to drop to his knees, and another Trolloc blade pierced into his side, pushing through his armor into hard muscle.   
  
Neotar drew Shai'tsorvonda and thrust it into the ground at the footsteps of the citadel of Fal Dara.It dug into the hard stone like no blade forged by man could. "I need no blade to defeat you!" he cried, the sound of his livid voice drowning all other sound. "For I not only am King of a fallen people, but am Asmodean the Forsaken and I have seen more days and battles than you blasted children ever will!"   
  
And as Adherbal fell, bruised and bleeding, his eyes rolling up into his head and wishing his King a silent apology for his failure, he saw a sight that would burn itself on his mind.   
  
The Borderland battle armor was whipped off of Neotar, and the King's very features were changing. Wherever the armor was blown away, a ray of bright light erupted as though it had been pushing against the armor and had finally escaped, and where the King had once stood now was a blindly fierce light, bright as the sun. The Shadowspawn who had been surging up the steps eagerly now fell back, letting out a shout of terror and covering their eyes. And great flames suddenly issued forth from the light, scorching fire which spread over the enemy like water, and the light broke to reveal a proud figure with stern and grim features--it was not the face of Neotar, but the face of Asmodean, a man forsaken.   
  
The hidden Asha'shadar began their wary attack as hundreds of their Trollocs and Myrdraal writhed about on the ground burning and dying. At least eight separate weaves flew at Neotar, and a familiar prickle in the back of his next alerted him to the presence of women. The weaves of the Asha'shadar were cut to pieces by the experienced flows of a man who had been channeling since before his adversaries were born, and even the Sisters found to their dismay that he had splintered their attacks as well. The hand of Asmodean thrust forward towards the building where he had seen the first Dreadlord, and as though he had tossed an invisible missile, the building collapsed inward upon itself. More attacks came, staggered, and then dissipated individually under assault by Asmodean. He laughed again. "The Great Lord did not warn you of my prowess, did he?" he crowed as he leisurely stopped the very men that he had trained. "Quite a pity that you cannot overcome a man who wants nothing more than to die!"   
  


****************************************************

Daedalus looked up from the fray, peering through the heat of battle hoping for a glimpse of his king, and suddenly there he was!Neotar stood at the center of the battle, along with a fluid barricade of Modero Haran, those who still lived. "Neotar!! The Northern Watch has come!" Daedalus screamed out. But it seemed that Neotar was unable to hear him. Daedalus watched in growing horror as he saw Neotar throw back his head in a mad cackle. What was going on!! No, this couldn't possible be happening.Then something happened that burned itself indelibly upon Daedalus' memory for all time. Daedalus felt a new surge of Saidin, but it came from Neotar himself. The stern, grandfatherly face that Daedalus had served unwaveringly for so long melted away and was replaced by one Daedalus had never seen before in his entire life. Then he heard the mad cackle again as Neotar declared his defiance. King Neotar had never been real?! That was Asmodean!? Daedalus was frozen in complete shock for an instant, and then his mind came to a conclusion. Neotar, Asmodean, whoever he was, he had served the Borderlands well for decades, guiding them, bringing peace and prosperity to them. It did not matter what his past was, only what his present was. And in the present, that man was Daedalus' King, and he needed Daedalus' help.

"Shiiieeeennnnnaaaaaaarrrr!!!!" Daedalus roared, the battle cry ripping once more from his throat, this time with more fury and determination than Daedalus had thought possible to be contained in a mere human voice. Daedalus set forth about him with his sword and Saidin, and he was Death incarnate. Nothing could possibly stand in his way as he fought desperately to join his King.

  
The battle raged, pulsating in the air, every now and then a spear of fire materialized before dissipating rapidly, far before it reached Asmodean himself.The square was a mass of writhing threads of Saidin, straining against each other, bulging and stretching vainly against the trained prowess of Asmodean.But as more and more attacks came, despair flooded over him, as well as an inner peace. More Dreadlords were coming; he felt at least twelve attacks raging at him from several directions. His lip curling in disdain, the King closed his eyes and snaked a razor of Spirit after one of the attacks he had shredded, and felt it snap satisfyingly through another attack, and then through the connection itself. Stilled, one of them. A bolt of lightening struck his back as he laughed again, and the force of it threw him from his feet, but still he fought, secure in the Void as his flesh burned. Building upon building crumbled, his weaves split ten, eleven ways, drawing on as much of the Power and more than he ever had, the sickly sweet sensation burning him from the inside as the flames burnt him from the outside. Laying on his back, the King thrust his hands up to the sky, the pain hammering endlessly upon the weakening Void, pain beating against his very being. Unendurable heat raged against his back horribly, snow dropped onto his face in a bitter cold, and suddenly lightening flew down from the sky in great mass at his bidding. It was as though the dark clouds had parted to allow the sun to shine upon the fallen city, so great was this final attack. A last gurgling, choking laugh was drawn out of him, and then as he reached out for yet more of the Power. The Taint, the Power, the Dark One overwhelmed him. Fire coursed through his veins for one violent uncontrollable second and then it was gone, the Void fallen. He spent his last moments in empty agony before a twisted, leering face leaned over him and grinned with bloodstained teeth, "You are a fool, Asmodean."   
  
A bright light shone, and as blood drained freely out of his ears and the corners of his mouth, he embraced it.

And so Neotar fell.It seemed as though the entire world stopped and was held in crystalline stillness. Nothing moved in that endless, eternal moment, except for the dark figure that bent down over the prone body of the man that Daedalus called King. Then the blade went home and the crystal stillness shattered in a scream of agony and loss as Daedalus dropped to his knees in helpless grief. His King was dead. The Borderlands were dying around him. The Shadow's minions ran unchecked across a land that had never fallen in over a thousand years. There was no hope, it was all lost. There was no longer any need to wait for Tarmon Gaidon, for surely it had already arrived here this day, and the Dragon Reborn had not been there to win the day.

Through the heartache and loss, rage began to boil up deep within Daedalus' soul. It was all lost, and not even the Torchbearer of Shienar had the heart to carry this day. But if his King would pass from this world, then he would not go to the final rest alone. He would send as many foul abominations spiraling down into the abyss as he could before he went to his rest next to the body of his King. His cry of anguish changed to a wordless roar of rage and heartache, so terrible that even the Fade that had been charging directly at him faltered in its steps.

Saidin ripped through Daedalus' body with so much force that it seemed that he stood in the heart of a great forge-fire. Balefire leaped from Daedalus' hand in a six inch thick bar, sweeping across the endless sea of Shadowspawn. For several seconds the deadliest of weaves ever devised covered the field of battle in a terrifying display, and then it was gone, and Daedalus reverted to more conventional weaves, but in tremendous proportion. At the same time he charged forward, his sword sweeping forward in a steel blur of promised death. He knew that there were so many Shadowspawn and Dreadlords on the field that eventually he would be overwhelmed, but the Balefire had bought him enough time to inflict the maximum amount of damage possible in that short time he had left in this life. All those who had come with him, his fellow Watchmen, the Warders, the surviving Bordermen, and even Rhys faded from his mind in the mindless, burning, red fury that enveloped him. His only thought was to kill, kill as quickly, and in as much quantity as humanly possible. It was the only thing he had left to him, to exact some small measure of vengeance for the death of his King.

*****************************************************

Rhys sat bolt upright in her saddle her mind monetarily deprived of reason as she witnessed the stroke that marked the end of King Neotar, of Asmodean. Asmodean; the name twisted in her gut, had Neotar spoken truly? 

She swallowed heavily.Had she really just risked her life for one of the Forsaken? Had she really liked a Forsaken? Was this truth made any less heinous by the fact that the Dark One had clearly been hell bent on destroying the man? Who was he? And why had he taken such care of the Borderlands? She'd known the man was a puzzle but this revelation surpassed her wildest imaginings. He'd played them all for fools--and she'd defended him.

It took Daedalus' roar of anger, anguish and loss to rouse her from her reverie. Now was not the time for introspection. She could beat herself up later, a process in which she was sure her Sisters in the White Tower would be more then happy to aid. Whoever Neotar was, whatever he'd done, and whatever he'd planned, the people of the Borderlands needed help now and she wasn't about to walk away from them simply because their King had been revealed as a fraud? An abomination? What was he, and why did it matter?

Shaking herself she zeroed her attention in on Daedalus; whoever/whatever the King had been, he was gone and Daedalus was the Borderlands' new hope. 

"Daedalus, wait," she screamed, desperate to be heard over the roar of destruction. "He's gone, its too late, we have to get out of the city while we still can, we have to rally the people. We have lost here but the war continues."

He didn't turn, she didn't think he even heard her, so intent was he on his vengeance. "Please Daedalus, the Borderlands need you," she whispered, "I need you." But where a shouted plea did little good a whispered one did no better. He wouldn't stop, she knew that and while she had had no right to force Neotar to save himself, she had no such compulsions about Daedalus.

The Borderlands had lost one leader this day, she would not let them lose another.

All she had to do was make him stop, get him to pause for one moment, just long enough to see sense and as her thoughts raced frantically her mind flashed back to another scene, had it only been a few days ago? A night walk through a courtyard, a tree root arranged just so to make her fall and a grinning Daedalus the trickster behind it all. That moment seemed a distant time, another age and yet it gave her an idea.

Channeling Air, she created a root, dangling it just a few feet in front of him. How could two such completely different moments involve the same people and the same actions? She would not let him die. 

"Forgive me," she whispered momentarily surprised to find a film of tears in her eyes. Why did the world seem to revert to slow motion? Why was it that when you were betraying someone who meant the world to you, their pain seemed to stretch on and on? How was it possible that the action of him falling seemed to last forever and why did she want to scream in anguish at the sickening noise his head made as he hit the ground?

She was off her horse and kneeling at his side without having to cross the intervening distance. Frantically she wove a Delving; he had to be alive; she couldn't have just killed him. The level of her relief was crushing when her weaves revealed the truth; he was unconscious, he had a simple concussion--a minor injury that she had no idea how to go about healing. Perhaps it was better this way.

"A concussion," she said aloud for the benefit of the assembled men, "I am not quite sure how to heal it, he will need to recover on his own."

"Bring him," she ordered tersely, waiting only long enough to see her orders carried out before brushing the mud from her clothes and mounting her horse. "We are not quite done," she declared in a tone that left no room for argument. "I need to be sure," she owed him that much at the very least and without a backwards glance she kicked her horse into motion.

Fortunately Daedalus' frenzied attacks had opened a path and she met only minor resistance as she threaded her way towards the site of Neotar's death.

His body was gone. 

The putrid stench of death and roasting flesh filled the square, and the sight that greeted her was a terrible one; the ground was a foul mixture of bloody mud and bodies lay strewn all over, may charred and unrecognizable due to the frenzied nature of Neotar's last battle. In the middle of the carnage Neotar's sword stood haphazardly, its blue-black blade pushed roughly into the ground. The sight of it made her breath catch in her throat and she dismounted without a moments thought.

Whoever sought to rally the North would need that blade and Daedalus would never forgive her if she let it fall into enemy hands.

"Check them" she ordered, waving her hands in the general direction of the black-armored corpses of the Modero Haran who littered the ground as she approached the sword almost gingerly. She found the blade disquieting, a sensation of which she couldn't have named the source and despite her intentions to take the thing she found herself almost unwilling to touch it.

Perhaps there was good reason Neotar rarely bared the blade. Shrugging her shawl from her shoulders she approached the last few feet. She imagined her Sisters would have a few choice words about her choosing to use her shawl in this manner but at the moment she didn't care. 

The sword was heavy but it came free of the ground quite easily, a trail of blue flame dancing in its wake as she moved it. Perhaps she was right to be cautious and without another thought she wrapped the sword tightly in her shawl. Why was it that he White Flame of Tar Valon seemed to stare at her in rebuke? 

Turning quickly she was surprised to see the Warders lifting two of the bodies onto horses. Survivors? Somehow it seemed impossible.

"We're leaving," she called, "I want the safest possible way out of this city, we will cut our way free, but we will not engage the enemy any further then we have to. I want as many survivors as I can get."

She only looked back only once.Fal Dara was gone, Neotar was gone and the Borderlands teetered on the edge of the biggest disaster the world had ever seen. It must not topple. 

Almost unconsciously she kept one eye trained on the horse that carried Daedalus. He was the important one now, she would need him to rally the people and salvage the land and if she was honest, she would need him for more than that. She couldn't do this alone and she suddenly wondered about the level of her fear on his behalf. Perhaps there was more than just a little self-interest there.

The trip back through the city seemed to take hours, her mind a disaster as she hurled fireballs and worried for Daedalus. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so helpless and as they passed body after body her dismay deepened. Did one ever grow immune to such carnage?

There were a few bright moments, when singly or in pairs a Warder or two would join them from the Shadows. How many men had lost their lives this day?

By the time they reached the city gates her frustration was at a boiling point and she spared no time for the creatures that bared their way. The Northern Watch weren't the only ones who could practice wanton destruction and she focused all her anger, worry and fear into one brief blast that cleared their way quite effectively. Perhaps that saying about an angry Aes Sedai was more accurate than many would admit.

Free of the city, she wasted no time kicking her horse into motion and issuing orders, allowing her horse to alternately drop back and surge ahead as she took a moment to speak to each of the Warders in turn.

"I want as much distance as possible between us and that city before nightfall, and I want the strongest most fortified and best hidden camp you can possibly devise," she told Radal Gaidin, more relieved than she cared to admit that the man was among the survivors. Khal Gaidin had put him in charge of the Tar Valoners for a reason and she found she trusted him almost implicitly. "I'll leave the details to you, but I have no intention of being slaughtered in my sleep and I don't dare make a Travel Gate."

"Magnus Thanson's men are out there somewhere," she told another man. "If there is a single man alive, I want him found. If they're all dead I want to know what happened, but I want every man who's still breathing rallied, I don't care if they're each missing an arm and both legs. I want them found."

"Civilians," she told another, "the people fled somewhere. I don't for a moment believe the Dark Friends managed to kill them all. Start putting out feelers. If there are people out there I want them brought to safety. I will not save the land to lose its people."

"Tar Valon," she told several others, "The White Tower needs to know what has happened here. Now more than ever the Borderlands cannot stand-alone. My Sisters need to know the truth. Rally the Tower, bring us hope and spread the word. I want every person between here and the Aryth Ocean to know what has happened this day."

Even when Radal finally called a halt in a small valley that could be described as nothing less than a tangle of trees, she didn't stop issuing orders, nor did she notice the two inches of snow already carpeting the ground and still falling. 

"I want to know what we have in the way of supplies, horses, and weapons. How many casualties have we sustained and I want every man who is in any way injured lined up to be healed. Prioritize them, I want the most desperate cases taken care of first and anyone who is needed immediately."

She didn't give the Watchmen a chance. "If you know a thing about healing I need your assistance and if you don't report to Radal Gaidin this instance. Like it or not I am, I was King Neotar's Aes Sedai advisor and until Daedalus recovers consider yourself under my authority. There are half a hundred preparations to be taken care of, and more men then I care to count to be healed, now move."

She didn't even spare herself, pausing only long enough to see Daedalus entrenched in one of the few tents they still had in their possession before making her way to where the most serious of the wounded had been gathered. 

She dealt with the two remaining members of the Modero Haran first, surprised to find that while burned to near ambiguity, Adherbal was one of the two men they had rescued. Perhaps some good would come out of this day after all.

When she was done she moved on to the Warders, surprised by the nature of the wounds many of the men had taken, how was it possible that so many of them still lived. And why hadn't Neotar had the foresight to find a Yellow to serve as his advisor?She'd never encountered such a myriad nature of wounds and as she wove what she knew of Healing, she prayed repeatedly that it would be enough, begged the creator to spare just one more life until the pattern of Delve and Heal settled into a regular rhythm and left her mind feeling numb and on the edge of anguish.

When she finally looked up it was full dark and one of the Warders was shaking her arm, a concerned expression flittering across what must otherwise be a stony face. Clearly the man had been shaking her for a while. 

She stood slowly, or rather she tried, alarmed at the sudden inability of her legs to support her weight. She was exhausted and she knew with sudden certainty that she had reached her limit, she had been channeling all day and at this late hour whatever energy fear and anger had lent her was gone. If she tried to heal another man she would collapse. "Enough," she whispered in a voice that wavered with sudden desperation, "I can do no more. Please help me to Daedalus, I don't think I can walk."

How true those words were, even the act of rising made her dizzy and she clung to Saidar with a fierce desperation. If she let go of the source now, there would be no regaining it and she had to be sure of Daedalus before she could rest. "Please take me to Daedalus," she whispered once more and the man complied, lifting her into his arms to accomplish the task. It seemed she wasn't fooling anyone as to her condition but for the moment at least she was glad of that fact—relieved to be in a camp completely surrounded by Warders.

They reached Daedalus' tent in moments and when the man put her down it was all she could do to make her way to Daedalus' side and place a hand on his forehead. He looked so peaceful, sleeping calmly and gently she brushed his hair back from his eyes. He was beautiful and his well-being meant more to her than she could begin to describe. 

Slowly, laboriously she Delved him, relieved to find him much improved from her initial inspection. He would live and the relief that flooded her was more than she could bear. Her sudden joy brought tears to her eyes, and with the tears Saidar fled.

Had she not been kneeling beside him she would have fallen. Though her exhaustion she realized that she would never convince the Warders of the necessity of awakening her the moment he awoke, and without the strength to put up a fight she did the only thing she could.

She curled up beside him and was fast asleep in a matter of moments.


End file.
